


Cardinal Rising

by Yadirocks



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yadirocks/pseuds/Yadirocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short stories about every Cardinals player on the team</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fozzy Bear

Michael hadn't expected to be accepted on the team as quickly as he was. It helped that Adam Wainwright, the always-smiling ace of the club, had basically taken him under his wing. He found it creepy, but amusing, that he and Waino looked alike and were almost as tall as each other. 

The second person he had quickly developed a relationship with was Yadier Molina, the veteran catcher who was arguably the best in the MLB. The way Yadi talked was like he didn't know he was the best.

The first time he had met Molina, Yadi had a bunch of rookie pitchers crowding around him. He looked like he had his hands full, so when Michael tapped on his shoulder, Yadier shot a glare at him. "What the *bleep* do you want, kid?"

Wacha, a rookie himself, shrunk back into his shell. "I just wanted to talk to you about my curveball, when you have the time," he answered, a blush rising on his cheeks.

Yadier had stared at him for what seemed like a really long time. Then, he asked, "Are you that kid that Waino was talking about? Mike? Matt?"

"Michael," Wacha answered, staring down at his glove and pretending like the adjustment strings were loose.

He felt Yadier's intense eyes bore into him for a few more seconds before a hand was on his shoulder. "Look me in the eye, kid, it's not going to kill you."

Michael nodded, meeting Yadier's eyes. Yadier studied him, looking him up and down, before squeezing his shoulder and giving him a small smile. "I'll talk with you about it after practice. I've heard good things about you, kid. Hopefully, I'll see great things out of you."

Wacha released the breath he had been holding in as he walked away from the catcher, who was immediately crowded by more players.

For the first few days, he had stayed quiet, throwing in the bullpen and taking advice from Tony Cruz, Yadi's backup. "Yadi's busy a lot, so you might have to get advice from me or someone like Waino when you need a question answered quickly. When you get a starting spot, the situation will be different, but until then, I guess you're stuck with me."

Wainwright introduced him to Chris Carpenter, who had had shoulder surgery during the offseason. "This is the kid you've been bragging about all week, Adam?"

Waino nodded proudly, putting an arm around Michael's shoulders. Chris laughed, a warm laugh that seemed to make everyone else smile around him. "He's like a miniature you, Waino!"

Wainwright nodded triumphantly. "Yep, which means someday, he's going to be the ace of this club."

Michael looked at Adam in shock. "I am?"

Waino gave him that goofy smile. "Come on, with those looks and that nasty changeup? No doubt. Maybe one day, you'll be almost as good as I am."

Chris smirked. "Don't listen to him, Michael, he's delusional."

Michael felt his heart pound as he looked at the players who had made the cut. He searched frantically for his name, trying to hide a shout when he saw it.

A voice behind him said, "Looks like I'm going to be seeing more of you, kid."

Michael turned to see Yadier leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Though his demeanor looked shadowy, he was smiling. It was a crooked smile that made Michael smile as well. Yadier shifted his weight back onto his feet, walking up to Michael. The catcher was a good few inches shorter than he was, but he still managed to make himself look big when he stood in front of Michael.

"You've earned your spot on this club, Michael. I expect nothing less than brilliance from you."

Michael smiled shakily. "Thanks, Yadi."

The catcher smiled, patting his shoulder. "See you tomorrow," he said, turning. "Kid," he said, glancing behind him as he walked away, the smile still on his face.

As soon as Yadier had turned the corner, Michael leaned against the wall. He fist pumped a few times. He had finally made it. He was finally going to get his shot to do something great.


	2. Little Pedro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story about Carlos Martinez

Coming to Jupiter after the offseason was one of the hardest things that Carlos had ever had to do. He gently touched the number on his new jersey. 18. The number that had belonged to his best friend, Oscar Taveras, before he had died. 

Carlos closed his eyes, flashbacks from the wreck and the funeral coming back in much too vivid detail. 

He was snapped from his daydream when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to and looked up at Yadi, who had insisted on getting a locker right next to his during Spring Training. "You doing okay?" the catcher asked.

Martinez nodded, and continued to button up his jersey. He was relieved when Yadier didn't ask anymore questions. The veteran just went back to taking care of his glove. They sat in silence for a while until Mike Matheny came in. 

"Come on, boys, we've got work to do," he said. As the players filed out, Mike pulled Yadi to the side and Carlos was forced to wait because Yadi was supposed to catch him in the bullpen. Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long, because Matheny just whispered something in the catcher's ear. Yadier nodded. "I'll take care of it, Mike."

The manager smiled, nodding at Carlos as they left. Martinez looked back after they had left the room. "What was that about?"

Yadier looked down at his watch, ignoring Carlos' question completely. "We're going to work some more on your curveball before your start tomorrow. Then we'll try the changeup, and then you can throw your fastball."

Carlos watched Yadi, but the catcher just continued to stare down at his watch, setting a timer on it. "We'll do that for about 20 minutes and then take a break."

During the bullpen session, Carlos decided to shrug off the pain for a while and threw as hard as he could. His pitches were everywhere, but to him, it didn't matter. He just wanted to take his anger and sadness out on something other than himself.

Finally, after the 10th pitch that had sailed out of Yadi's reach had ended up stuck in the padding, Yadier sighed, walking to the bullpen mound. "I think it's time to take a break."

Carlos shook his head. "No. It's fine."

Yadier put a hand on his arm. "We're taking a break. I could use some water."

Before Martinez could object again, Yadier had already walked into the tunnel, pulling Carlos along with him. After getting a drink of water, Carlos was ready to go back to the bullpen, but Yadier said, "Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

Carlos threw down his glove. Yadier ignored his act of anger, instead walking down the hall. "You're welcome to join me."

Carlos felt heat from his anger rise up his neck. Why couldn't anything go his way nowadays? Why was Yadier acting as if his anger didn't bother him?

After a moment of standing there, he finally began to chase after the catcher. When he caught up to him, Yadier was already grabbing a hot dog in the clubhouse. 

Martinez sat down next to him, sipping on his water. Yadier didn't speak to him until he had finished his hot dog. He wiped his hands on his napkin, swallowing his food before asking, "So what's bothering you?"

Carlos looked at him, shocked. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You've been acting strange all day, as if you haven't noticed anything. You've basically been ignoring me."

Yadier sat up, throwing away his wadded up napkins. "I've been ignoring your actions because I didn't want to acknowledge them immediately."

Martinez shook his head. "Do you honestly think that made me feel any better?"

Yadier shrugged. "It allowed me to see that something was wrong with you."

Carlos felt it again. The anger. The frustration. He clenched his fists. Yadier didn't seem to mind when he punched him in the arm as hard as he could. In fact, he just let Carlos punch him a few more times, a couple landing on his stomach and another on his leg. When he aimed for Yadier's face, though, Yadier grabbed his wrist. "Carlos, calm down. I know why you're so upset."

Carlos felt tears fill his eyes. "You don't know anything about me, Molina!"

Yadier gently released his wrist. "Go ahead. Punch me. Right in the face."

The catcher waited, looking at Carlos expectantly. The pitcher brought his fist up, but couldn't bring himself to send it towards Yadier's jaw. The catcher's eyes bore into him, but his vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He tried to hide them from Yadier, but it was too late. 

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a hug. Carlos tried so hard to keep his composure. Yadier whispered, "Just let it out."

All of the memories from Oscar's death came swarming back into his mind. Before he could even register it, he was sobbing into Yadier's jersey. "He'd be so proud of you, Carlos," Yadier said. 

Martinez nodded. "You've gotta leave it on the field, Little Pedro," Yadier whispered. "And you can't bring anything else onto it."

After he had calmed down somewhat, Yadier pulled away, handing him a box of tissues. Carlos looked down as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yadi?"

"Yeah?"

"You won't tell any of the boys about this, right? I don't want them thinking that I'm....a wreck."

Yadier gave him a smile when he looked up at him. "I won't say a word."


	3. Big City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Matt Adams short story

"You sure do have a lot of power, kid," Matt Holliday had told him after his practice in the batting cage. Matt blushed slightly at the praise. "Thanks, uh, Mr. Holliday."

Holliday laughed, putting a hand on Adams' shoulder. "Call me Matt or Holli. There's too many Matts here, isn't there?"

Adams glanced at where Matt Carpenter was fielding ground balls. "Well, you know what they say. Three times' a charm."

Holliday nodded in agreement, watching Jon Jay in the cage. They stood in silence for a few minutes out of respect to Jay's time in the cage, but when he walked out after his session, Holliday said, "We need a young player like you, Matt. You have a lot of power and a lot of potential, and that's just what this team is looking for. Especially now that Albert is gone. You have big shoes to fill, kid, but I don't doubt that you will astound everyone."

Matt blushed again. "What about you, though? You have a lot of power, too, and you have much more experience than me."

Holliday put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a smile. "The difference is that I'm old," he said with a laugh. "It won't be too long before I'll retire. Young guys like you are going to have a big responsibility after me, Yadi, and Waino retire. Right now, just keep doing what you've been doing. Keep listening, keep learning. There's going to be a time, not too far from now, where you're going to have to be the one to take that step onto a higher level. And when I say a higher level, I don't mean just with the offense."

Adams was confused. Why was Holliday telling him all of this? 

Matt must've seen the confused frown on his face, because he said, "I'm only telling you this because I know that you'll be able to handle that responsibility. Being a leader isn't easy, but when you have guys who look up to you, like Tony looks up to Yadi and Michael looks up to Adam, you have to be the one to give them the boost. Who knows? Maybe someday, you'll have a kid on this team who just wants to talk to you and wants you to teach them all your secrets."

Matt could already feel the weight Holliday was putting on his shoulders, but it was lessened slightly when he said, "Don't mature too fast, though. When you play 162 games a year, you have to have a bit of fun and be a little crazy sometimes."

Holliday pointed at something, and Matt followed his arm to see Adam Wainwright rolling in the outfield grass. Michael Wacha was laughing at him. He said something that made Wainwright grab his arm and tug him down, and their laughter could be heard throughout the entire ballpark. "There goes Waino again," Kolten Wong muttered. 

Matt started to understand all that Holliday had said now, and he smiled at Matt. "Thanks, Holli. I won't let you down."

Holliday patted him on the shoulder as he removed his arm. "I know you won't," he said, giving Adams a smile as he went for his turn in the batting cage. 

Wong nudged him in the arm. "Hey, who says we can't go join them?" he said, gesturing to Waino and Michael. Adams smiled. "I'll race you!" he said, taking off, knowing full well that even with this head start, Kolten would still beat him there. He laughed as Wong passed him, both of them toppling to the grass. Adams laughed as Michael threw grass at him. Don't mature too fast, he could hear Holliday say. Yeah, he thought as Adam rubbed grass into his hair, I definitely wouldn't want that.


	4. Wolf of Wallstreet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story about Tony Cruz

Tony lifted his mask and took a big drink from his water bottle. As he took a break, he sat back and watched Yadier Molina catching Carlos Martinez, laughing when Yadier let a ball between his legs.

"My, my," he teased the veteran catcher, smirking when Yadier cast a mock glare at him, "What would Dave Ricketts say?"

Yadier threw the ball back to Carlos. "He'd have parked his golf cart right in front of me and told me to get my butt in it," he answered, chuckling at the memory of the late minor league coach.

Tony bowed his head at the answer, playing with the strings of his glove. He pulled one tighter, as tight as it would go. It accidentally flung out of his hands and hit Carson Kelly, a minor league catcher, in the head. "Ow!" Carson complained. Tony shrugged. "That's why you're wearing a helmet, Carson, though I don't know what it's trying to protect."

Audry Perez laughed out loud from across the bullpen at Tony's jest. "Who are you to talk, Wolf? I'm pretty sure that your head is just as hollow as Carson's!"

Michael Wacha had been pitching to Carson, and he stopped. "Girls, girls, you're all pretty. Can I continue throwing my fastball now?"

Everyone went silent again, and now only the sound of the baseball hitting the glove could be heard throughout the entire bullpen. Tony sat back, watching one of the younger catchers (what was his name? Hill?) catch Randy Choate. 

The ball slipped from Randy's hand, sailing way wide of Hill's glove and hitting Yadier right in the mask. Yadier was distracted for a moment, and the ball that Carlos threw hit him in the crotch. Carlos gasped. "I'm so sorry!" he yelled from the mound. Yadier waved it off, throwing the baseball back. "I think we should take a break," he said with a tight voice. He stood, walking over to Tony with a grimace on his face.

Tony was trying really hard to keep a straight face. Yadier smacked his shoulder. "Don't laugh at me, it isn't funny. It hurts," he said, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. Tony flicked his back. "Quit whining, you wimp," he said.

Carlos came over. "I'm really sorry, Yadi," he said. Yadier shook his head. "Not your fault, I should've been paying attention. That's on me," he replied, standing up straight. Carlos still looked unsure, but Tony just leaned back and took a sip of his water. "He's fine, the guy takes ball shots all the time. This one just happened to hit him there," he said with a grin on his face. Yadier muttered something under his breath in Spanish. Tony was pretty sure that he said, "Estupido." He smiled, knowing full well what that meant, and yeah, he was one.

After taking another quick swig of his water, he sat up straight. "I'm gonna go catch for Trevor," he said to no one in particular. He glanced back at Yadier with a smile. "I know you'll miss me," he said cheerfully. Yadier yelled at his back, "Break a leg, literally."


	5. Hawaiian Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Kolten Wong short story

Every day seemed to go by faster than Kolten wanted it to. The postseason hadn't ended on a good note for Kolten. He wasn't satisfied with the way it ended, and it only made it worse when Oscar died. Getting through the long offseason had been more difficult for Kolten than anything else that year. Even getting sent back down to the minors didn't compare to the pain of not playing at all.

So when Spring Training started, Kolten was ready. Jon Jay watched him as he tied the shoelaces on his cleats. "Are you trying to cut off the circulation?" he asked jokingly, seeing how tight Kolten was attempting to tie the cleats. Kolten pulled harder on the laces. "I need to be fast," he explained without looking up. "I want to make this team so I can be there for the postseason. I want a World Series ring, Jon."

Jay rolled his eyes at his friend. "Well, don't get too wound up in it. You have enough energy when you're trying to be lazy."

Kolten admitted, Jay had been right. He had been too caught up in trying to impress everyone, including himself, that he had forgotten to have any fun during Spring Training. He chastised himself as he sat on the bench during the last week before the season, rubbing some scuffs off of his shoes. Of course, it had all been for a good cause, but he could feel frustration rising up in his chest when he would miss a pitch in the batting cage. Quit being so hard on yourself, he thought, if you continue like this, you'll never make it 162 games.

Peralta came in from the field after Wacha struck out the last batter of the fifth inning. "Ready for our trip?" the shortstop asked, tugging on his batting gloves. Kolten frowned. "What trip?" he asked. He hadn't known about a trip...

Jhonny saw the confused look on his face and said, "I guess Holli forgot to tell you. During the last week of the season, all of the starters, besides the pitchers of course, go on a trip to get used to traveling again. It's supposed to be like a bonding thing. Yadi and Albert started it in 2011."

"I'm invited to that?" he questioned. Wong hadn't thought much about whether he was considered a solid starter like Yadi and Holliday. Jhonny shrugged. "I would think so. I'm pretty confident that Mike will have you starting at second on Opening Day at Wrigley," he reasoned. 

As Jhonny walked away to go onto the on-deck circle, Kolten felt a huge weight fall off of his shoulders. Had he really been so worried that he wouldn't being the starting second baseman that he was letting it weigh him down?

Once again, he chastised himself for his stupidity, and looked at the season with a new perspective. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the year.


	6. Gonzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short story about Marco Gonzales

Getting sent back down wasn't the best thing that could've happened to Marco. He felt like he had worked really hard for that spot, so he wasn't about to blame his pitching for the fact that he didn't get the fifth rotation spot. He was more angry at Mike and Yadier than anything. They were the two that had been the main judges of his pitching. Marco had watched as Yadier practically babied Carlos, requesting for his locker to be right next to his and how he always seemed to be by Carlos' side.

The Cardinals called him up a month later to help in the bullpen. By then, all the hype over prospects was over. Kris Bryant, the top prospect for the Cubs and possibly the best in the MLB minor league system, had been called up two weeks before him, already having hit two home runs in those games. Marco was more than angry, more than upset. He was determined. 

Yadier was the first one he saw, sitting in the bullpen talking to Tony Cruz as they watched Trevor Rosenthal throw a few pitches to the bullpen catcher. Yadier looked through the sun at Marco. He smiled as if he hadn't been the reason he was in the minors for a month. "Hey, Marco. Nice to see you again!"

Gonzales gave him a glare before walking past the two and to the lockers at the end of the bullpen. He felt Yadier's eyes on him, their intensity almost burning a hole in his back. They didn't speak the entire time, and Yadier did his share of ignoring when Marco asked him what he should do to improve his slider. Yadier didn't answer him, just sipped his water. Marco's anger burned even more. Who did Molina think he was?

Then, he saw Carlos, who was sitting on the bench and gazing at the OT 18 sign in the bullpen. Seth Maness was chattering away to Martinez, who would nod and say, "Yeah," or, "Cool," every now and then. Marco decided that today wasn't a good day to approach Carlos. He was mad, but he wasn't a complete jerk.

Yadier rounded the corner, merely glancing at Marco before walking over to Carlos. He followed Martinez's gaze, and he saw Yadier sigh softly before touching Carlos' shoulder. Martinez snapped his gaze to Yadier, blinking at him a few times before asking, "What?"

Molina smiled. "Nothing," he said. "I think we should go get something to eat. You in?"

Carlos shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he barely managed to hear him mumble. 

The catcher gazed sadly down at the young pitcher. "Okay," he said gently. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

On his way out, Yadier grabbed Gonzales' arm and pulled him down the hall. Marco tried to pull away, but once they were out of earshot of the dugout, Yadier pulled him into an empty room, locking the door and turning on the lights. Gonzales crossed his arms. "Blocking my way again, Molina? Didn't you do that just a month ago?"

Yadier sighed. "You have a right to be mad at me. I paid more attention to Carlos than I did to you. That was a mistake, and I'm sorry. You have the right to be ticked with me, heck, if you need to, I'll let you punch me, but don't be mad at Carlos for this. There's more behind it than what you think there is."

Gonzales didn't meet Yadier's gaze, staring at the wall with his arms still crossed. "So you're telling me that you didn't pick Carlos for what happened because you felt sorry for him?"

Yadier smiled sheepishly. "That was part of it, I'll admit, but there's much more to it than that. Believe me when I say that you are a great pitcher, Marco. I mean that, to the very end of my heart. Just hear me out."

Marco felt tears fill his eyes. No. He couldn't let Molina see him cry. Not when he was still trying to be mad at him. "You have five minutes to give me a good explanation."

Yadier nodded, putting a gentle hand on Marco's back and leading him to sit down on a couch nearby. The catcher took a deep breath. "The main reason we chose Carlos is because he is more experienced at this level than you are, Marco."

It was true, but it still wasn't good enough for him. Yadier continued, "You're very, very young, Marco. You have a lot of years left in you. You're a great pitcher, and you haven't even hit your prime yet. You have plenty of good years ahead of you, that's plain to see. Carlos, however, is older than you and nearing his prime. For all we know, he could only have a few excellent years left in him. Oscar...what happened to him...it really matured Carlos. It was possibly the most horrible way for him to mature, and definitely the most painful for him, but he did grow up a lot this year. You still have time to be a kid, Marco. Take advantage, and don't rush it. You don't know how much youth means in this game."

Gonzales closed his eyes. "You didn't even tell me what I did wrong."

Molina looked at him sadly. "You didn't do anything wrong, which is why you're already back. Don't take it so hard."

Marco felt tears fill his eyes, so he kept them closed. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and soon, Yadier was enveloping him in a hug. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I didn't like you, Marco," he said. "I was just so afraid Carlos would...hurt himself."

He said this with a tired sigh, pulling away. "This time, I promise, I won't push you away."

Marco nodded. He was sort of relieved. He thought he had been sent back down because he had an unknown flaw. He wasn't very happy that Molina's answer was 'you're still a kid,' but it was better than it could've been.

Marco smiled as he and Yadi went separate ways. Maybe Yadi was right. Maybe he needed to be a kid a little while longer.


	7. Rosey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short story about Trevor Rosenthal

"What the heck are you doing?" Tony Cruz marveled at Rosenthal. The reliever grinned at him, dancing on the mound to 'Can't Touch This' as it played on Trevor's phone. Usually, it was all business and no play for Trevor, but not today. Today, he was determined to have a little fun and goof off the way only he could.

The backup catcher watched him do the moonwalk. Then, he stepped forward and did a back flip. Tony yawned. "Do something interesting. You're an amateur."

Trevor danced towards Tony, who just stepped away. "Oh, no, you're not getting me involved in this. If Yadi comes in a finds you DANCING, of all things, he's gonna be one ticked off Puerto Rican. He'll rant at us in Spanish until our brains feel like jello, and then he won't let us play anything but ballpark music the rest of the season!"

Right on cue, Yadi came into the dugout. "Trevor, stop slacking and get to work."

Trevor stuck out his hand for Yadier to take. "C'mon, Yadi, dance with me! You know you want to."

Yadier rolled his eyes. "I have no desire whatsoever to dance. I have work to do, and so do you."

Trevor didn't move his hand. "Are you a chicken?" he asked. Yadier shook his head. "No, I am too busy to dance."

Before he could leave, Trevor snatched his hand and whirled Yadier around as 'Play That Funk Music' started to play. Yadier tried to snatch his arm away, but Trevor just laughed and spun him around the bullpen. "Loosen up, Yadi!" he said with a giggle.

Yadier didn't look ready to loosen up anytime soon. "Trevor, stop!"

Trevor let go, releasing Yadier right onto the bench in the locker room. "I just wanted to have a little fun," he said sadly, lowering his head. He knew Yadi would give in. The catcher had a soft spot for his pitchers, and whenever they were sad, Yadi would do anything to fix it. 

The catcher took a deep breath. "Fine, you can dance. Just don't make me dance anymore. I get dizzy."

Rosey smiled, hugging Yadier tightly. "You're the best, Yadi!" he said excitedly, before changing the song again and singing as loud as he could. Yadier glanced at Tony. "Am I going to regret this decision?"

Tony smirked. "Only if you're deaf by 35."


	8. Jhonny P

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story about Jhonny Peralta

It was smoking hot at Busch Stadium. It was probably the warmest day of the year, and the heat made it hard for everyone to focus. Players everywhere were lazily laying out for ground balls up the middle, most of the time coming just short of catching it on the end of their glove. "It's too hot for this crap," Kolten Wong puffed as they ran to the dugout to get a drink. Jhonny shrugged, though sweat was pouring down his face too. "I'm used to the heat," he answered, taking off his hat as they walked down the steps.

"Used to it?" Matt Adams exclaimed, baffled. "How can you be used to this type of heat?"

Jhonny shrugged, taking a swig of his water bottle. "It's easy to be used to heat, especially if you come from the Dominican or somewhere similar like me."

Wong shook his head. "I'm from Hawaii and I'm still not used to the heat. In this type of weather when I was little, I wouldn't be found near a baseball field. I'd be on the beach or swimming somewhere, trying to cool off."

Matt Carpenter was the only one not complaining at all. Jhonny took one look at him and asked, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm not very sure," Matt said, taking a big gulp of water from his water bottle and blinking a few times. Jhonny watched him closely. "How many of me do you see, Matt?"

Carpenter looked down at the cap of his bottle. "Two," he whispered quietly, staring hard at the ground. Wong's eyes widened. "Should you go see Mike?" he asked, concerned. Matt shook his head. "I'm probably just a bit dehydrated, I just need to take few drinks of water and I'll be fine."

Jhonny smiled at him. "Or maybe there's just something wrong in there," he said, knocking his knuckles against Matt's head. Matt rolled his eyes. "I may be seeing two of you, but that's why I have two fists."

Everyone in the dugout went 'ooohhhh'. Jhonny laughed, putting an arm around Carp's shoulders. "I'm just joking with you, Matt." He ruffled Carpenter's hair, sending strands here and there all over his head and making Carp frown. 

The third baseman grabbed Jay's comb from the bench and brushed his hair back into place. "I'll get you for that, Jhonny P," he said.

Peralta grabbed his glove and ran onto the field. "I'd like to see you try, Marp!" he yelled behind him as he ran. Matt ran after him, chasing him around the field. The rest of the infielders watched with smirks on their faces. "Should we get this on video?" Pete Kozma asked. Matt Adams smiled, gesturing to his phone. "Already on it."

Carpenter ended up tackling Jhonny to the grass in left field, sitting on his stomach and holding his head up triumphantly. The outfielders ran onto the field from the clubhouse, ignoring the two idiots still in the middle of left field. Mike Matheny came out with a cup of water in his hand. "I don't even want to know what happened here. We need this part of the field, though."

Jhonny lifted his head from the grass. "Carp is seeing two of me because he's dehydrated!" he said. Matt glared at him as Mike turned his gaze to him. "Is that true, Matt? If so, you should probably come out of the heat for a while."

Matt puffed out his cheeks. Mike rolled his eyes, grabbing Matt's arm and dragging him off of Peralta and towards the dugout. "I'll get you even if it's the last thing I do!" the third baseman yelled before he turned and followed Mike into the tunnel that lead to the clubhouse. Jhonny chuckled. "I'll be here waiting when you get back!" he yelled, knowing that Carpenter probably didn't hear him, but he smiled anyway. "Crazy kid," he muttered before running to shortstop and joining the rest of the fielders for the evening practice.


	9. JJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Jon Jay short story

"Jon, I hate to break it to you, but you might be a woman," Trevor Rosenthal teased as he looked into Jon's locker and saw the many pairs of shoes that it contained. "You have like, five different pairs of shoes in here. That's more than I use in two years."

Jay smirked at Trevor. "That's because you have no fashion sense whatsoever, Rosey," he said, grabbing a red pair of shoes that had white stripes on them and untying them. Trevor rolled his eyes. "I may have no fashion sense, but at least I know how to be a man."

The chatter in the locker room stopped as Rosey said this. Jon stood up straight. "Are you challenging me, Rosey? Do you remember what happened the last time you did that?"

Flashbacks to trying to get his jersey out of the rafters went through his head. "Yeah, I remember," he said with a smile. "But that doesn't mean I still don't doubt."

A circle had gathered around the two, players taking sides and encouraging their friends. Jon shrugged. "Well, there's only one way to solve this, Rosey."

Rosey quirked an eyebrow. "You're right, Jon, there is only one way."

Both stood up to each other, chest to chest, and said simultaneously, "Arm wrestle!"

Rosey stepped back first. "Loser has to dye their jersey pink and bring in pink shoes and wear everything pink for the next week!"

Jay smiled slyly, and they shook on it.

The next day, both players had their group of supporters surrounding them, preparing for the showdown. News of the match had spread all the way to the bat boys, who were whispering and pointing at the two and laughing to themselves. No one dared to tell Mike Matheny, because even though Mike was pretty cool with what his players did in the locker room, an arm wrestling match was something that they couldn't chance him not agreeing to. Yadier Molina, who was leaned back against his locker on Jay's side, asked, "Do you honestly think this is worth the embarrassment, JJ? If you lose, this is going to be everywhere, and you'll be the laughing stock of the MLB for sure." Jon rolled his eyes at the catcher. "Yeah, but if I win and he loses, I'll be the one laughing, not the one being laughed at." The room went silent as the two foes sat down, a table between them. "You're going down, JJ," Rosey shot at him, rolling up his sleeves and showing his muscles for all to see. Jon rolled his eyes once again, this time because Rosenthal was being a complete showoff. He was definitely going to kick his butt now.

Peter Bourjos came back, pulling on Chris Carpenter's arm. "C'mon, CC, we need you to do us a favor!"

Chris shook his arm loose of Peter's grip, glancing around at the group huddled around him and the two men sitting at the table. "And that is?" he asked, eyes landing on Yadier, the most responsible in the room, giving him that 'I can't believe you're allowing them to do this' look. Yadier rolled his eyes at his friend. "They want to have an arm wrestling match to see who is the most manly, and they want you to referee it." Chris frowned. "They're both already girls, why do they need to prove if they're manly?" Jon gave him a cheeky smile. "So you'll do it?" he asked. Chris glanced at everyone in the room, whose eyes were all on him. "Fine," he gave in. "But if either of you end up in the hospital with a broken arm, don't come crying to me." Trevor looked down at his arm. "Well...breaking my arm probably would end my career." Jay looked down at his, also. "Yeah, me too. Trevor, Chris is right, this is stupid. Can we just both agree to end this?" Rosey smiled. "Yeah, that way neither of us end up ending our careers." They shook hands, and the crowd around them booed. Michael Wacha spoke up. "Guys, they both chickened out, which makes them both unmanly! That means they both have to wear pink for a week!" Both of them looked to Chris. "Please, CC, don't make us do it," Rosey begged. Chris shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me." Yadier smirked. "You both agreed, and even shook on it. Now you have to do it." _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ "This is embarrassing," Rosenthal muttered under his breath. He was dressed in pink dress shoes and a pink suit. Jay laughed. "You look like a princess, Rosey." "You're one to talk," Trevor mused, pointing to Jay's pink shoes. "How many pairs of pink shoes do you have, several dozen?" Yadier watched the exchange with Carlos Martinez. "Think they'll ever learn?" Martinez asked. Yadier shook his head. "Nah, but I know what I'm going to do." He walked over to the two, taking out his phone as they were still bickering and turning on his camera. "Smile, boys!" he yelled, and as they both looked over, shocked, he snapped a picture and then walked off. "Now I have proof that they're both idiots," he said with a smile.


	10. JHey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Jason Heyward short story

The first thing Jason Heyward noticed when arrived at his new home was the beautiful outfield grass in right field. It shimmered and shined against the sunlight, and Jason breathed it in. 

"Watch out!" someone shouted, and Heyward turned to see the seams of a baseball coming right towards his face. He threw up his glove in reaction, catching the ball a split second before it could do any damage. 

Peter Bourjos smiled at him. "Nice catch, Jason! Holliday is at the plate, though, so you might want to pay attention. The guy can rip liners right at your face faster than Trevor could throw a fastball."

Rosenthal frowned from where he was stretching. "What did I ever do to you, PB?"

The centerfielder stuck his tongue out at Rosenthal. "You're mean to me," he pouted, crossing his arms and sticking out his lip. Yadier came over from the bullpen, and the two went silent. The catcher was the most mature person on the team, aside from Holliday, and Trevor gave him a big smile when he came into the outfield to stretch. "Oh, no," Yadier said when he saw Rosenthal smiling at him like an idiot. "What did you do this time, Rosey?"

Trevor looked offended. "I didn't do nothin', right, JHey?"

Heyward shrugged. "He was flirting with Peter, but other than that, he didn't do anything."

Rosenthal frowned. "I wasn't flirting with him, he was being a baby. Said I'm mean to him. That's not true, not at all."

Yadier rolled his eyes. "What about the time that you hid his jersey in the freezer and then locked him inside?"

Rosenthal started to speak, but then thought against it. Instead, he just stared at his shoes. "Okay, I'll admit, that was probably mean, but it sure was funny!"

Holliday jogged to the outfield, receiving a high five from Yadier as he sat down. Heyward still stood, watching for line drives. Rosenthal smiled at him. "Come on, JHey, it's okay to slack a little! Well, during BP it's okay, anyway."

Jason looked unsure, but Yadier shrugged. "It's not going to hurt long if one of us gets hit. What will hurt is the long lecture from Mike if we do get hurt."

Soon, BP was almost over. Jason stood. "I should probably go take some swings before they put the cage up."

He received a chorus of, "Bye, JHey!"

Once in the batting cages, he took a deep breath, concentrating on the outfield, where the three were still sitting. Rosenthal was on the ground, and Yadi was rubbing grass into his hair while Holliday watched, seeming to not be affected by his teammates' antics. Rosenthal's laughter could be heard all the way from the outfield. Jason turned his gaze back to the pitcher just as the ball was thrown. He hit a shot to the outfield, and realized it was heading right at the three. "Hey!" he yelled, his voice booming across the Stadium. Yadier looked up from rubbing grass into Rosey's hair. He leaned over Rosey, and the ball hit him right in the shoulder. If he hadn't been there, it would've hit Rosenthal right in the face. Jason had to admit, he was a little disappointed. 

After a few more hits, he jogged back to the outfield. Rosenthal was hugging on Yadier, singing annoyingly, "Yadi loves me, he saved my face!"

Yadier rolled his eyes for the second time. "It already looks awful, I didn't want it to blind everyone in the Stadium!"

Rosey hugged Yadier tighter, singing again even louder. Yadier met Heyward's eyes and gave him a 'see what you did?' look. He had grass all over his uniform because of the grass in Trevor's hair, and he looked miserable. It was almost the end of practice, and the players were leaving the field to go pack up for the day. Yadier tried to pry Rosenthal off of him, but it didn't work. He gave up, falling onto his back. Heyward laughed. "Good luck with that, Yadi."

Yadier flipped him off as he left, and Heyward laughed as he ran back into the clubhouse. Maybe his new home wasn't going to be as bad as he originally thought.


	11. Peter Gorgeous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Peter Bourjos short story

He ran around the bases as fast as he could. The wind whipped through the small spaces in his helmet, which was beginning to fall off as he continued to race. He turned with his right foot on second base, heading to third at a non-stop speed. He didn't know how fast he was going, in fact, he didn't even know why he decided to run the bases to begin with. As he rounded third and headed for home, he could feel his heart beating in his chest, faster and faster. Almost there...

Suddenly, he was on the infield grass, and someone fell on top of him. Stars danced in his vision, and it took a moment for the dizziness to go away before he could open his eyes without the red dots wiggling everywhere. Trevor Rosenthal sat on top of him, head high in triumph. Bourjos rolled his eyes. "Get off of me, fatty! Why did you tackle me?"

Rosenthal smiled, that sneaky smile that made Peter want to hit him in the head. "What do you mean, Peter? You were simply in my way, so I gave you a nudge and you fell to the grass. Why would I do something as mean as tackle you?" he said, trying to look like an angel. Peter saw right past it. 

"I know why you did it, it's because you're jealous that I can run faster than you," Peter teased. Rosenthal frowned, but it quickly turned into a grin. "Oh, so are you challenging me, PB? I'm surprised you're man enough to actually talk trash."

Bourjos rolled his eyes again. "I don't care whether I can talk crap or not, just get off of me, would you?"

Finally, finally, Rosey stood, grabbing his water from off the ground and taking a giant gulp of it. Peter stared at him from the ground. "You really set your water bottle down before you decided to tackle me? You were just that desperate to make fun of me, weren't you?"

Rosenthal shrugged. "You may be fast, PB, but you would suck at football."

Bourjos stood. "Would I? You got my blind side, Rosey, that's not a fair judgement. Let's say we do this again, this time with a football and gear and everything?"

They were about to shake on it when a voice yelled, "That is the worst idea I've ever heard!"

Both turned to find Mike Matheny standing on the top step of the dugout. Rosenthal shrugged. "Why, Mike? We just wanna have some fun, that's all."

"You're baseball players, not football players, and you're not going to get hurt trying to tackle one another for a sport you don't even play professionally."

Trevor slumped his shoulders. "Tackling Peter is fun though, he sucks at trying to avoid it."

Mike shook his head. "Not happening, boys. Now get to work, we have a game tomorrow and I don't even see a glove out here."

As Mike went back into the clubhouse, Rosey spilled his water all over the front of Peter's jersey. "Oops!" he said with a giggle. Bourjos took the water bottle from him and ran at him with it, hitting him as hard as he could in the back and shoulders. Apparently, Rosenthal thought this was some kind of game, because he was laughing like a lunatic and running as fast as he could. "Catch me if you can, PB! Who's the slow one now?"

"Still you!" Peter yelled, and lunged. He wrapped his arms around Rosenthal's chest, and both fell to the ground in a cloud of dust. Bourjos' jersey was covered in dirt, as his jersey had been wet. "Look what you did, Rosey! Mike's gonna kill me if he finds my jersey like this!"

Rosenthal stood. "That sounds like a personal problem," he said, running away as Bourjos glared at him, shooting daggers at his back.

Suddenly, there was a squawk from inside the dugout, and Yadier came out from the inside, carrying Rosenthal by the collar of his shirt. "What did I do to deserve this kind of torture?" Trevor complained. Yadier dumped him right in front of Bourjos. "Tell him you're sorry."

"But-"

Yadier gave him a fierce glare, fiercer than any glare that either had ever seen. "I'm sorry, PB," Rosenthal muttered.

Yadier crossed his arms, still not satisfied. "You're going to wash his jersey until it looks brand new, and then you're going to apologize again. Got it?"

Rosenthal rolled his eyes. "This isn't fair, he was being mean to me too!"

The catcher raised an eyebrow. "I saw the whole thing, Rosey."

Rosenthal looked regretful already. Peter pulled off his jersey, now just in his tank top, and handed it to Rosey. "Here, just make sure it gets cleaned, or Mike will definitely throw a fit."

Yadier walked with Peter to the outfield while Rosenthal took Bourjos' jersey to get it washed. "Thanks for your help back there, Yadi," Bourjos said.

Yadier shrugged. "He did the same thing to Kolten this morning, when I wasn't around, so I came prepared this time."

Peter shook his head with a smile, and the two parted ways. He had to get revenge somehow. He smiled deviously. In good time, in good time.


	12. Waino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Adam Wainwright short story.

"Ah," he whispered, breathing in the smell of the ballpark. "I missed this."

Mark Reynolds popped a few sunflower seeds into his mouth, staring at Adam's boot that was protecting his ankle. "Still gonna try to come back, huh?" Mark asked.

Adam held his head high and nodded. "For sure. I'm not going to be able to sit still if I'm not playing in October. If I don't pitch, I'll be bouncing off the walls. At least if I'm pitching, all that energy is being used."

"I still think you're crazy, coming back so quickly from an Achilles and all," Reynolds said with a shake of his head. Adam shrugged. "You have to be a little crazy to be a pitcher."

"A little?" a familiar voice asked. "Last time I checked, you don't have a sane part in your body."

Adam gave Yadier a cheeky grin, wrapping his arms around Yadier and making the catcher nearly trip and fall. "I missed you too, best buddy!"

Yadier tried to pull Adam's arms off of him. "Let go of me, lunatic!"

Adam hugged him tighter. "Not until you say you missed me!"

Yadier shook his head. Adam gave him that mischievous grin. "Oh, so you didn't miss me? I think this will change your mind."

He found Yadier's tickle spot, the one that no one else knew about except Adam from years of trying to get Yadier to loosen up and laugh. "Adam Wainwright, don't you dare-"

The words died on his lips as he began laughing, trying to wriggle out of Adam's arms. For a guy who had a hurt ankle, he sure did have a good grip. "Fine," Yadier managed to get out. "I missed you."

Adam released Yadier, who scurried away from him. Adam grinned. "I knew you missed me, Yadi!"

Yadier rolled his eyes, brushing the wrinkles out of his jersey. He mumbled something under his breath in Spanish, stomping onto the field. "Don't make me come out there and tickle you, Grumpy Gus!" Adam warned. 

Yadier turned around. "Like you can get up here anyway," he teased.

Adam put his hands on his hips. "Would you stop fooling around and help me up there?" Adam asked Michael Wacha, who was sitting over in the corner of the dugout with Jon Jay, both giggling like middle school girls.

Wacha beamed. "Are we gonna get to watch you tackle Yadi?" 

Wainwright smirked, "Maybe, depends on if I can get to him before he gets to the bullpen."

Michael quickly helped him up onto the infield. Adam walked as fast as he could and managed to do an awkward run towards the catcher. The wind whipped through his short hair as he ran. He smiled, his eyes lighting up as they landed on his target. "Who's the gimp now?" he yelled. 

Yadier barely had time to glance back and yell, "Holy-" before Adam leaped on top of him, knocking both of them to the ground. "Are you crazy?" Yadier asked while Adam sat on top of him. He wiggled a little on top of Yadier. "Your belly is really squishy, did you know that?' he asked as he poked at Yadier's stomach.

Yadier tried to get up, but Adam was too heavy. Finally, he gave up, staring straight up at the blue sky. Adam still sat on top of him, picking the outfield grass. "Don't do that, it makes the grounds crew mad," Yadier chastised.

Adam laughed. "That's why I do it. Gotta keep that grounds crew on their toes."

It was hot outside, Adam realized, noticing that his arms were covered in sweat. He wiped them on Yadier's jersey. The catcher finally didn't care, just started picking the grass off his arms. 

"See? You're a lot more fun when you don't care," Adam said. Yadier sighed, closing his eyes. Adam frowned. "What's wrong?"

Yadier opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again with a shake of his head. "It's nothing."

Adam rolled his eyes, putting his hand on Yadier's tickle spot. "Don't make me do it," he said with a smile, knowing that he had Yadier trapped. 

"I said it's nothing, okay?" Yadier said, sounding irritated.

"Gosh, it was just a question. Yadi, I've known you for over ten years now. I can tell when you're lying to me. Now what's on that mind of yours?"

Yadier shook his head. "Adam, I don't need a therapy session. Just forget about it."

He struggled to get up, but Adam wouldn't allow it. "You're gonna stay here until you tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Yadier, why do you keep lying?"

"I'm not lying, Adam."

"Sure you are."

Yadier was still struggling to get Adam off of him. Adam sat stiff, not budging. Yadier looked helpless. "What's the matter with you, that you wouldn't want to tell me something that is obviously bugging you?"

Yadier averted his eyes. Adam said, "I've been your best friend for ten years and you still don't trust me."

He stood on his own, and began to limp back to the dugout. He was sort of ticked off, and it was hard to tick Adam off. He was usually a pretty happy guy, but he didn't want to be around someone who was going to kill his mood.

A hand wrapped around his arm. "Adam, stop."

Wainwright did, only because he was at the top of the dugout steps and didn't know how to get down on his own. Yadier turned him around. "Now you have to stop," he said with a small smile. 

Adam shrugged. "You obviously don't want to talk to me. I'm done trying."

The look in Yadier's eyes changed. You shouldn't feel bad, Adam told himself, he should for pushing you away. Nevertheless, the sad look on Yadier's face as he tried to make his way down the steps on his own made him feel guilty.

He was almost to the bottom when he heard a soft whisper of, "I'm sorry."

He looked back up at Yadier to see that he was staring at his cleats. Adam sighed, knowing what he had to do. He may have been mad, but Yadier was his friend. 

"It's okay," he finally said. He would've gone up the steps to give Yadier a hug, but his ankle was already protesting him standing so much. 

Yadier looked up. "Truth is, Adam," he said, stepping down to the second step, since he was so much shorter than the pitcher. "It's been really hard keeping everything together without you here."

The catcher then averted his eyes again. Adam was silent, but his frown stretched into a big grin. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Yadier smiled slightly. "I guess I am."

Adam grinned from ear to ear. "I knew it. I knew you missed me."

They hugged, but when both pulled away, Adam said, "Now get down here, it's bugging me that I have to look up at you for once."

Yadier laughed, stepping down into the dugout. "Maybe it's just you," he said, his own mischievous grin on his face. 

Adam's grin didn't leave. "Race you to the clubhouse!" he shouted, shoving Yadier slightly to throw him off. He ran as fast as he could with his awkward limp, laughing as Yadier finally caught up to him. Adam hadn't just missed his best friend. He had missed everything about baseball. And it felt great to be back.


	13. Marp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Matt Carpenter short story.

It wasn't like Matt to be slumping in the middle of July, he knew as he stepped into the batter's box. At the beginning of the season, he had been batting over .300 once again, but then once May came and went, his offense went along with it. He'd worked with batting coaches, scouts, watched video, talked to Mike, talked to Holli, even talked to Yadi, who gave him one look after he asked and started laughing. No one knew how to help him. No one knew what was wrong, and that was the most frustrating thing.

The pitcher on the mound today was Gerrit Cole, a nasty pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates that was also Carpenter's nemesis. No matter how hard Matt tried to get his bat on the ball just enough to lift it over the infielder's head, Gerrit made it almost impossible. He found himself watching changeups right down the middle for strike three or swinging at a curveball that nearly hit him. Was it Matt, or was Cole really just that good?

He's not going to strike me out this time, Matt told himself as he got set. The ball came out sizzling from Gerrit's hand, a slider landing outside and called for ball one. Matt shrugged. Maybe if he stood up there long enough and didn't swing, he'd find a pitch he could yank. Instead, the next one hit him in the shoulder. It stung worse than any wasp or bee sting, but he took it anyway and jogged down the first base line and stood on the bag. Now they had a runner on with no outs. It was his turn to do some damage, this time on the scoreboard.

Randal Grichuk came up to bat, Jhonny on deck. They needed one run to tie the Pirates. Matt was determined more than ever to be that earned run against Cole. So, on the first pitch, Matt took off for second base, not looking back at his base coach, who was yelling at him to stop. Carpenter didn't need a steal sign to know he needed to get into scoring position. 

The throw by Cervelli was wide and slid under the shortstop's glove. Matt wondered on his good fortune for only a split second before taking off for third. He got the base easily, as the centerfielder had been playing deep for the power hitter at the plate. Matt allowed himself the moment to take in the roar of the crowd at Busch. It seemed like forever that they had been excited over something he had done. Now he was standing at third base, no outs, the run that could change the game. 

Randal just glanced at him, but there was a small smile on his face when he did that disappeared once he looked back at Cole. Though he wanted to jump up and cheer, his job wasn't done yet. He took his lead, Oquendo basically taking the lead with him. Randal swung at the first pitch, hitting the ball in the gap. Matt went back to the bag in case it was caught, but there was no chance for Andrew McCutchen to grab that one because it was over the wall for a home run. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. No longer were they down a run, but now they were leading by a run! As good as it felt to step on home plate for the first time in forever, he couldn't help but wish that he had been the one to hit the home run. For now, he had to take the run he scored and appreciate it. 

Wainwright, who was out with an Achilles injury but not letting that stop him from messing with Yadier, gave him a high five. "Great job, Marp!" he cheered, throwing his hands up in the air. Carpenter laughed, grabbing his cup of water off of the bench and sipping it silently. Wainwright went back to chatting with Yadier, who acted annoyed, but Matt saw right through his demeanor, and so did Adam because he kept pushing him around.

Randal received high fives from everyone in the dugout. Once the excitement had settled down somewhat, Grichuk spotted Matt on the other side of the dugout and made his way towards him. "I think you made Cole a little nervous," he whispered.

Matt raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"That pitch he threw to me was a hanging curveball. He didn't look too confident when he threw it. I think he had wanted to throw over to the bag, but was too nervous he'd throw it away and give up the tying run on an error. You got in his head, Marp!"

Carpenter let those words sink in. He got in his head. That was it. That was the key. Matt had let all this frustration over a little slump get in his head, and that's why he continued to be in a funk.

Grichuk stared at him, watching Matt's smile get brighter and brighter. He chuckled. "Good job, Matt. Maybe this second half will be the one where we start scoring more runs."

Matt took off his helmet, still smiling like an idiot. "Maybe," he whispered.


	14. Holli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Matt Holliday short story.

"I hate being hurt," Matt complained to Yadi, who was buckling his shin guards so he could take the field. Yadier rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't?" he asked, finally managing to pop the button into place. "You're going to have to talk about that with Waino, Matt. I can't really help with that right now."

Matt huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Yadier's back. It was unfair that Yadi got to play and he had to sit here on the bench. At least, he thought it was unfair. Okay, maybe it wasn't, he thought, but it didn't stop him from sulking.

Wainwright limped over to him. "Why the long face, Holli?" he asked, sitting down on the bucket of balls across from him. 

Matt put his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. "It sucks sitting on the bench," he said. "There's nothing to do but sit here and complain about not playing."

Waino chuckled, glancing at Mike. "Well, sitting here isn't as bad as you'd think," he said. "I think you're just mad about your injury more than having to sit the bench."

He knew Adam was right, but he crossed his arms anyway. He was just in one of those moods where he felt slightly annoyed with everything. He was annoyed with the fact that he couldn't play. He was annoyed with his leg. He was annoyed with the way Wacha came over to him, pointing at Matt's bald head and screaming, "My eyes!"

After the inning had ended, Yadier began taking off his shin guards. Luckily for Matt, it was the ninth inning, so he didn't have to suffer in his angry mood for much longer.

Yadier saw the way Matt glared at him as he threw his chest protector onto the bench. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You were glaring at me like I had just insulted you or something. What's up?"

Holliday threw his hands up in the air. "Nothing is wrong!" he snapped. Yadier rolled his eyes, and muttered something under his breath. 

"What was that?" Matt asked.

Yadier met his eyes. "I was wondering why you were being so sensitive. Matt, I know you're hurt, and that sucks, but you don't have to be rude about it. You act like it's a crime for me to not be hurt and complaining with you," he said.

As the top of the inning rolled into the bottom, Holliday felt a bit of relief that it was almost over. Maybe he was just tired, and that's why he was in a bad mood. He didn't feel tired, though. 

Gosh, Yadier was right, he was being sensitive. He shook his head, sipping his water. Be a man, Holli, he told himself. Somehow, that only made him feel worse. 

When the game was over and the Cardinals had won, Matt went out to congratulate them. Yadier stood at the end of the line, as usual. Matt pulled him aside once they had walked down the steps and into the dugout.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be a jerk earlier. You were right, I was being too sensitive."

Yadier watched him closely, as if to figure out whether Holliday was just pulling his leg or not. Finally, finally, he puts a hand on Matt's shoulder. "I forgive you," he said, meeting Matt's eyes. "You seriously need to find a way to keep yourself occupied while in the dugout, though."

Matt shrugged. "What do you suggest?" he asked as they walked into the hallway. 

Yadier's eyes suddenly lit up, and a smile that made Matt's skin crawl spread onto his face. "That's not a good sign," he muttered.

The next day, Yadier sat with a smug grin on his face, watching Matt hand out hot dogs to fans. Waino put his elbow on Yadier's shoulder. "How did you get him to do that?" he asked. 

Yadier took a bite out of his hot dog. "It was pretty easy," he said. "He wanted something to do while he was sitting in the dugout, so I convinced Mo to give him a little job to do."

Adam shook his head at the catcher, poking him in the chest and stealing half of Yadier's hot dog. "This is why we're friends," Adam said, both watching Holliday work as if it was their favorite TV show.


	15. Yadi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Yadier Molina short story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't like the first version I made for this chapter, since it didn't seem at all realistic to me and I feel like I could've done better. So I'm rewriting this chapter, and hopefully, I'll be satisfied.

Yadier went into his crouch for what seemed like the 100,000th time that night. Sweat was pouring down his face and onto his neck, making him both hot and uncomfortable at the same time. Catching extra innings while in Arizona was not Yadier's ideal image of a good time, but it was part of his job. He definitely wasn't about to leave this game, not when they brought in one of the newer pitchers added to the roster, a kid with a name so weird and long that everyone just called Tui. Had it been a more experienced pitcher on the mound, like Villanueva or Choate, he might've taken the offer to come out of the game and let Tony take it from there. Since it was a rookie, though, he had refused.

A four-pitch walk to Pollock made Yadier shake his head and go out to the mound. The kid, Tui, looked scared as Yadier approached him, and averted his eyes when Yadier asked him, "What are you doing?"

The new kid stammered, "I-I..."

He was shaking and looked nervous, glancing around at the crowd. Yadier put his hands on Tui's shoulders, bringing him back to the present. "Don't pay attention to the crowd," he said immediately. "You need to focus and concentrate. You walked a guy, he's standing on first base, and now you have to get this batter to make an out. What do you want to do?"

Tui swallowed hard, staring down at his shoes. The umpire took off his mask and yelled, "Are we going to do this or what?"

Yadier waved him off, putting an arm around Tui's shoulders and leading him all the way to the back of the mound, picking up the rosin bag to buy them some time. "Do you want me to get Mike and ask him to bring in another pitcher to finish this? Is that what you want?"

Tui shook his head frantically. Yadier put his hands on his hips. "Then what do you want to do?" he asked, this time more gently than before. "You have two options here, Tui. You can give up, or you can try to throw a strike and get this guy out. You've got guys behind you that will do whatever they can to help you out, that's why they're there."

He dropped the rosin bag and started walking back to the backstop. "You decide," he yelled back. His knees protested when he dropped down into his crouch again, but that wasn't anything new. Yadier took a deep breath, trying not to suffocate from the heat that was coursing through his body. Just three more outs, he told himself, and then he could get a drink and cool down. He put down the sign as Peralta stepped into the box. Tui nodded, looking a bit fidgety, but not as bad as before. He threw the fastball for a strike, to Yadier's relief. 

Closing his eyes, Yadier adjusted his chest guard, but when he opened them again, he was seeing two of the pitcher. He shook his head, blinking a few times, but it didn't help anything. It certainly didn't help when the next pitch, a changeup, was tipped by Peralta and hit him square in the mask. His stomach felt queasy and he was having trouble breathing. He couldn't leave now, though. It would mess up the rookie. Yadier had to stay in the game at least for the next three outs. 

The next pitch, a slider that Yadier would've had a hard time catching, was hit on the ground. Jhonny Peralta snatched it up into his glove, throwing to Wong, who threw it to Reynolds for a 6-4-3 double play. Yadier sighed in relief, taking off his mask and trying to breathe. Freaking Arizona, he thought, wondering how their catcher managed to do this for 162 games. 

At this point, everything was sort of blurry. That couldn't be good, Yadier knew, and yet he knew he still had to stay in for this last out. He had to make it, it wasn't even an option to come out. Yadier swallowed hard, trying to battle the sick feeling in his stomach. 

On the first pitch, Goldschmidt hit a pop fly to Randal Grichuk, ending the inning and making Yadier nearly collapse in relief. Well, that, and the fact that his legs felt like Jello win he stood up. He wobbled his way to the dugout steps, grabbing onto the railing to steady himself. Mike Matheny took his arm. "You don't look so good, Yadi," he said, as if it wasn't obvious enough with the way Yadier was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. 

"I'll have you know, Mike, that I am perfectly fine," he said, but even to him, it didn't sound strong at all. His head hurt now, and his stomach was throwing a fit. The weird part was, as hot as it was, he was shivering. Mike rolled his eyes, taking Yadier's arm and yelling at Tony Cruz, "Wolf, go in for Yadi next inning, I think he might pass out if he goes back in."

Tony nodded, eyes going to Yadier. He stuck his tongue out at the catcher as he went through the tunnel. "Wimp!" Yadier heard him yell, and he would've smiled and yelled something back if he hadn't felt like he was dragging 100-pound weights instead of his two feet.

The head trainer, Billy, took one look at him and said, "Yeah, he's definitely dehydrated."

They stuck an IV in his arm and made him lay down for a while on a cot. Once again, not his ideal image of a good time, but it had to be done. His stomach was still churning and growling at him. Yadier closed his eyes, and nearly fell asleep when the door opened and someone sat down beside him. Yadier opened his eyes, not even glancing at Wainwright. "What is it, Adam, come to make fun of me?" he asked, bracing himself for the teasing. 

Instead, Wainwright sat back in his chair. "I actually just came down here to see if you were okay," he said, picking a strand of loose string from his shirt. "If you don't want me here, though, I'll leave."

Yadier huffed, knowing that his friend was trying to make him feel guilty on purpose. He looked towards Adam, who was staring down at his phone, not even paying attention to the catcher. Yadier rolled his eyes, smacking Adam's hand. "Are you being serious?" he asked. "You just came down here to check on me? There was no other reason?"

Adam shrugged. "Well, you are my friend," he said. "Whether you believe me or not, Yadi, I care about you. Also, I saw how you handled Tui out there. The kid needed that. You staying in even when you were going through pain really set an example for him."

The catcher sighed, closing his eyes. Wainwright studied him closely, putting a hand on Yadier's arm, the one that didn't have the IV in it. "You okay?" he asked, his concern sounding sincere. Yadier cracked his eyes open, glancing at him. "Yeah, I feel better than I did before," he answered. 

Adam nodded, satisfied with answer for the moment. Yadier closed his eyes, happy that someone cared enough to ask.


	16. Tommy Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Tommy Pham short story.

Transitioning from the minors to the majors for Tommy was one of the easiest things he'd ever done. First of all, the food was ten times better in the Cardinals clubhouse. Second, the hotels they got to stay in were huge, even though normally, they had to share rooms. He found himself bunking with Stephen Piscotty, his teammate that had also been brought up from the minors a month before Tommy. The hardest part of being a new guy in the MLB, though, was figuring out a pitcher.

The problem Tommy had wasn't that he wasn't able to catch up to the 98 mph fastballs, or that he swung and missed at the off speed pitches. It was figuring out the difference between both of those things that was a challenge. In the minors, the pitching had been slower, so he was able to see the ball come in a bit more clearly. Here in the MLB, there were no excuses for throwing a fastball below 90 mph.

"It isn't that bad, Tommy," Stephen told him from the desk he was seated at. They were at their hotel in Los Angeles, playing the Dodgers. Pham was pacing the room, worried about the battle he would face the next day. Zack Greinke was going to be on the mound for the Dodgers, and the guy had thrown nothing but fire the entire season. 

"I don't know, Stephen. This might be too much pressure for me. Maybe I should've stayed in college," Tommy said, though he knew that this thought was absurd. He'd much rather be where he was now than be that weird, foreign college kid that he had outgrown when he arrived in the minors. He'd probably be working in some tech office if he hadn't decided to be an baseball player. Even the thought made him shudder. 

Stephen snorted at this remark. "You don't mean that," he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed on Microsoft. "Just a few days ago, you were ecstatic to be here. You haven't even scratched the surface, and neither have I."

Tommy sat down on the edge of his bed. "Maybe it's my eyesight," he wondered. 

Stephen shook his head from where he sat across the room. "I don't think so. Just a few weeks ago, you passed that eye test. I doubt it's your vision," he reasoned.

"Then what could it be? Why can't I see the seams on the ball? I spend so much of my time hitting trying to search for the seams that sometimes, I forget to swing the bat."

Stephen turned in his swivel chair, the wrinkles on his forehead scrunching up. For someone so young, Tommy knew that Stephen was very smart. Had he not decided to be a baseball player, Tommy was sure that he would've gone on to be a doctor or a lawyer. So many times, he found himself jealous of how easily things came to Stephen.

"Maybe that's your problem," Stephen said. "Maybe you're thinking too much."

Never before had Tommy had that problem up to the plate. He wasn't about to believe that was the problem now. "I don't think that's it."

Stephen shrugged, stretching as he stood. "Sleep on it," he said, jumping on the bed next to Tommy's. 

The next day, Tommy went up to bat against Greinke. He took a deep breath, making sure that his swing was even with the middle of the plate. Closing his eyes, he heard Stephen's voice in his head. 'Maybe you're thinking too much.'

Tommy erased every single thought from his mind when he opened his eyes. Right now, it was just him and the ball. 

Tommy didn't even realize it when he swung. The ball shot off his bat, soaring through the sky. Past third base. Now halfway through left field. Tommy's feet had a mind of their own as he ran, but his eyes stayed on the ball. 

He put his head down when he saw the ball go into the stands, the crowd roaring as he rounded second base. Tommy had hit home runs before, but never had it felt this good. Rounding third and heading for home, Tommy knew he had found where he belonged.


	17. C-Vill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Carlos Villanueva short story.

The moment that Carlos had gotten the news about being signed by the Cardinals, he was ecstatic. Sure, he loved playing for the Cubs, and no, he didn't mind his name being outshone by the likes of Rizzo and Bryant. He actually liked being a Cub while he was there. However, there were 2 things that Villanueva could do with the Cardinals that he couldn't do with the Cubs: Be Adam Wainwright's teammate and pitch to Yadier Molina.

Villanueva had heard that Wainwright, or 'Waino,' as he was known to the baseball world, was one of the funnest, outgoing people in baseball. From afar, Carlos had admired Waino's dugout dances and gestures of support to his teammates. Adam was friends with everyone from Clayton Kershaw to Pete Kozma. He was unhateable.

Then there was Yadier Molina. The guy had a reputation like no other in the MLB for his pitch calling and the bond he made with his pitchers. Carlos had always wanted to pitch to someone he could trust, someone he knew wouldn't let his pitches go beneath their legs and who knew what they were doing. Argue all you want, but in Carlos' mind, pitching to Yadier Molina would mean he would pitch to a great.

He didn't meet either of the two until his third day with the franchise. It was disappointing really, but he did get to meet Trevor Rosenthal, Tony Cruz, and Kevin Siegrest. "Yadi and Adam are always busy, but they're always together," Rosey informed him. "If Adam is without Yadi or vice versa, something is up."

And that is exactly how he met them. They were both sitting on the bench in the bullpen. Yadier was latching his shin guards to his legs and Adam was chugging some blue Gatorade as Carlos Martinez and Michael Wacha chanted, "Chug, chug, chug!"

Adam downed the rest of the Gatorade with an 'ah' while Michael and Carlos cheered. "New record," Yadier said, raising an eyebrow at Adam. "Twenty-five seconds."

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."

Villanueva cleared his throat, turning both of their attentions to him. "Hello, I'm Carlos," he said, reaching out a hand. Adam gave him a smile and shook it. Yadier was more reluctant. "I know you," he said. He was wracking his brain for a memory. 

Carlos shuffled his feet. "Well, I pitched for the Cubs. Bullpen. Long-inning guy," he tried to explain. Yadier Molina remembered him. That was enough of a compliment for Carlos.

"I remember you," he said again. "I saw you at Spring Training a few years ago. Playing for the Cubs. You struck me out the first time on an 0-2 changeup and I returned the favor by hitting your slider over the wall later that day."

Carlos was shocked. He couldn't believe Molina remembered what count, pitch, and team he had been playing in Spring Training a few years back. Carlos hardly remembered what he did the week before, let alone four years ago.

Adam glanced at Yadier. "Quit freaking people out with that memory of yours," he said, tapping Yadier on the skull with his knuckles. "People are going to start believing that you can read minds."

Yadier made a 'pfft' noise. "They already started that rumor," Yadier mumbled.

Carlos didn't extend his hand to Yadier. He was pretty sure that Molina remembering him at some point in his career was his way of greeting people. If Carlos had a memory like that, he'd like to freak people out, too, after all.

Later that day, Carlos went to Mike Matheny's office to get his assignment for the day. However, it wasn't Mike Matheny sitting in the swivel chair in front of his desk. The lights were out. The computer was the only light source, and it showed video of Carlos' pitching. The person in the chair was muttering to themself, their hand flying across the page of notes while their eyes stayed on the screen, catching simple flaws that would later come together to finish the puzzle.

Maybe I should come back later, he thought. Carlos turned to leave, but the floor creaked beneath him. It was Yadier who met his eyes, his hand clicking the video to pause and a small smile crossing his lips at the same time. "Scared me," he said, before turning back to his computer screen. 

"Sorry," Villanueva said. He stood there awkwardly. He heard Yadier sigh, and without looking at Carlos, he said, "Come in. Mike will be here soon."

Carlos hadn't dreamed that being alone in the same room with Yadier Molina would be so awkward. He had always thought Yadier would be the type to talk to his pitchers and let them pick his brain. The Yadier he was meeting was a direct contrast from the one he had dreamed of. He didn't know if he liked it.

"I'm sorry that I struck you out," he said sincerely. If Yadier was mad at him for that, he had apologized. The catcher laughed, turning off his video and closing his notebook. "Sorry? You did what you were supposed to. I'm not mad at you, Carlos," he said.

It was silent. Yadier sighed, leaning back and popping his back over the chair. "I'm not what you were wanting, am I?" he asked, only now his voice was sad.

Carlos didn't answer. He was too embarrassed. Was he that easy to figure out?

"I wish I was what you want me to be, Carlos. I wish I could be what everyone wants me to be, but I'm not. I'm not going to try to be several different people when I could be one me," he said. 

Again, silence. What could he say? Yadier leaned forward, looking him in the eye. "On that field, during the game, THAT is when a pitcher and catcher become a battery. Their energy is the same, their desperate want to get out of the inning are the same. When I'm not in a game, I struggle with having that connection. It's taken ten years for me to have a bond with Adam like the bond we have on the field."

"I know. I guess I was just hoping..." he trailed off. Yadier smiled at him, a true smile. "You're a good pitcher. If you're good enough to strike me out on the first try, then it is certainly a blessing to catch for you."

And just like that, he packed up his notebook and was gone, leaving Carlos shocked. He had only said eight words and Molina had renewed his confidence. So Molina wasn't what he was expecting...but maybe that wasn't so bad. 

Maybe Carlos hadn't been what Molina was expecting, either.


	18. OT 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short story about the impact of the Oscar Taveras tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is probably a year late, but I wanted to make the last chapter the most meaningful, and I feel like even though he is no longer with us, Oscar is still part of Cardinal Nation.

It wasn't supposed to end like that. Life couldn't be this cruel, they all thought. Even though Oscar had been gone for five months now, the shock of it was finally hitting some people. Grichuk and Holliday didn't throw the ball as hard or with as bright of smiles as they used to, knowing that the person in right field wasn't Oscar. They didn't mean to offend Jason Heyward, but they still felt like right field belonged to Taveras, and it was hard to see Jason standing there knowing that he was Oscar's replacement.

Michael Wacha had tried to comfort Carlos Martinez, but it was extremely hard whenever Carlos would try to open up to him and he'd end up in tears too. He sometimes heard Carlos crying by himself, and the sound put a baseball-sized lump in his throat. Carlos, on the other hand, still wasn't fully grasping that this wasn't all just some nightmare. Why his best friend? Why someone he considered a brother? Why hadn't he convinced Oscar to come to his house instead of letting him go to that bar that night? Why hadn't he trusted his gut? It was his fault, but he didn't tell anyone that that's what he thought. They would call him crazy and tell him that he was wrong, but he really needed someone to blame.

Kolten had a hard time, too, though he made it less obvious. He had never been one to gush out his feelings, even over such matters as death. He'd already taken his time to mourn to himself, though the memories with Oscar still haunted him every time he ran to second base and didn't see Taveras smiling at him.

Jhonny hadn't known Oscar long like the younger players had. He'd only been in the organization for a year. Still, he was sad for the people who had been close with him, and even though he hadn't taken the time to get to know him, he wished he had. From the stories everyone told during breaks in the locker room, Oscar had been an energetic and fun-loving spirit. It wasn't fair that his life was taken from him so soon, even Peralta knew that much.

Yadier and Adam had taken the bulk of the aftermath, when it came to bringing the pieces back together. As always, Adam told everyone he would be there for them if they needed to talk, but no one ever came. He expected as much. He sometimes hated that men were too proud, because then they let their emotions silently consume them until they tipped over. Yadier, on the other hand, had finally gotten through a bit to Carlos, at least from his viewpoint. After making sure that he was assigned a locker next to the young pitcher during the spring, he had learned just how close the two had been from the small things Carlos told him every now and then. He felt sympathy towards Martinez, and tried to put himself in his shoes, but that was too hard to bear because he thought of Adam instead of Oscar. The thought was too hard to bear, so he couldn't begin to fathom just how much pain Carlos was experiencing, yet the only time he'd ever gotten the pitcher to talk to him about it, he was strong and didn't cry. Yadier wondered if Carlos had learned more because of this experience about life than he ever would.

Carpenter was still a bit numb over the entire experience and tried to avoid talking about it altogether. If he heard someone talking about Oscar, he would simply turn his head and listen to something else, which was hard since everyone's conversations in the locker room were about Oscar. They hadn't been entirely close, but he had been someone that Taveras trusted and Matt trusted him equally, and losing a bond like that was still a hard pill to swallow.

Adams, even though he was a big guy and was probably the toughest on the team, was the first one who began to cry when Mike gave his "don't drink and drive" speech. It seemed too cruel in his mind to be lecturing them over this so soon, but then again, it wasn't too soon. It was hard to believe that it'd been five months already, everyone could agree with that. 

When they put the OT patch on their jerseys, each head was lifted a bit higher than before, a little prouder of the name on their jersey. The word 'Cardinals' may have just defined that that person played for St. Louis to any bystander, but to each player, it was more than that. It meant family.


End file.
